


A Grave Secret

by halfpastmorrow



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmorrow/pseuds/halfpastmorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry follows Snape and gets more than he bargained for</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grave Secret

Nobody has seen the Headmaster for over a week, but Harry Potter doesn't believe the rumours. He doesn't _want_ to believe them, truth be told, so for the last three nights he's been wandering the corridors after curfew, searching for answers instead.

Tonight, he's negotiating the length of the castle, slipping along under the cover of his invisibility cloak until he reaches the juncture of two corridors. He peers 'round the corner and spies Snape striding down the passage that cuts across his own. There's nothing but the hospital wing down that corridor, so he knows they have the same destination in mind.

He draws back from the archway and waits for him to pass, disappointed, but not foolish enough to get in his way.

As Snape approaches, Harry can see that he's cradling a potion gingerly in his hands. An expression of grim determination clouds his face, making it clear that he's up to no good. So Harry follows.

It's fortunate that he has learned a trick or two in the last six years; he's nearly silent as he pads along behind Snape in his stocking feet. The stone floor chills his toes, even through a pair of Mrs Weasley's thickest socks, but the extra caution is necessary when tailing someone as suspicious as Snape.

Harry approaches the end of the hall with increasing apprehension. This is the tricky part of the operation, and the door to the hospital wing seems both too close and too far away. He needs to stay close to Snape, but it's difficult to contend with the man's lengthy stride; he's not quite close enough when Snape opens the door, and it catches his shoulder as he tries to slide through behind him, making him gasp.

Luckily, Snape's apparently too preoccupied to notice.

Snape heads straight for Madame Pomfrey's office when they enter. As the main ward is deserted, Harry's not surprised. He is, however, surprised that Snape doesn't stop there but continues through another door on the far side. There's a corridor beyond it that leads to Madame Pomfrey's quarters, and the five private rooms used by staff or for cases needing isolation.

Snape stops at the third door along, so suddenly that Harry has to pull up sharply to avoid bumping into him, and stares through the viewing pane in the door. After remaining motionless for what feels like an age, he buckles silently against the door, pressing his cheek against the glass. The fingertips of one hand dig into the wood, but the other still cradles the potion bottle against his chest. His eyes slide shut, and he swallows visibly. Something about him reminds Harry of the look on Ron's face before they followed the trail of spiders into the forbidden forest. Like he's struggling to find his last ounce of courage, or resolve.

Harry's so close now, that the bags under Snape's eyes are clearly visible in the shaft of light that floods in through the window. He's too close, but he's too afraid to back away in case even that slight movement alerts Snape to his presence. He almost doesn't dare breathe, and actually doesn't for a few moments, until his chest tightens and he opens his mouth unwillingly. He struggles for control, for silence, so that the air claws the tender inside of his throat as it exits.

And Snape's been still so long he's beginning to feel frightened. Not just of what Snape will do if he catches him, though that is indeed a frightening thought, but of just what it is he'll find inside that room.

There's an unpleasant odour in the air. It's so strong he can practically taste it as he breathes. Though it's reminiscent of a potions classroom, it still takes him a moment or two to work out that it's coming from Snape. Sweat -- Harry thinks -- stale sweat and something else. A heavy, meaty scent, possibly dragon's blood, not that it matters anyway. The malodorous combination makes him want to gag. He pities the person who'll have to drink the potion he carries.

He can't help but notice that Snape's robes, normally so immaculate, are rumpled and potion-spotted. It makes him appear as though he spent the evening hovering over some noxious brew and then rushed straight up to test its efficacy.

Eyes still shut, Snape reaches down to grasp the doorknob, and although the light in the corridor is too dim to be certain, Harry believes his fingers are trembling. He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because in a flash, Snape straightens, pushes open the door and enters briskly as if there had been no delay, and it's all Harry can do to scramble in after him.

The floor is still stone, but Madame Pomfrey has had it polished to a high sheen. Harry's feet skid on the slick surface, and there's a moment of panic before his toes catch painfully on a groove between the flags. But the dull ache in his toes is nothing compared to the misery laid out before him.

The headmaster is lying propped against a nest of pillows; his frailty almost disguised by the blankets swathed around him and the thick mat of his beard. Harry can see, though, the way his cheekbones stand out jaggedly from his grey face and can hear the gurgle that bubbles out of him with every breath, and realises that at least one of the rumours is true.

Harry's breath catches in his throat. Normally, the veil of his cloak lends the world a soft focus that distances him from his surroundings. But the distance isn't enough this time.

Dumbledore is dying.

He doesn't doubt it's true, but can't quite comprehend it either. He understands the headmaster is old, but Dumbledore has always appeared to possess the eternity of mountains rather than the decay of ancient human ruins.

He might have seen it sooner, but he hasn't been this close to Dumbledore for quite some time. Not since Sirius -- a grimace crosses his face -- their relationship has been strained at best since then. Still, he thinks, he should have been nicer to Dumbledore, and is certain he _would_ have been nicer if he'd known.

"Albus," Snape says as he approaches the bed. Dumbledore's eyes are closed.

A cabinet stands between Harry and the moonlight that drenches the room, and he huddles in the shadow filled niche it provides, taking the first opportunity to conceal himself from the headmaster's uncanny vision.

"Albus," Snape says again, reaching out to touch Dumbledore's shoulder.

Dumbledore's eyes flicker open. "Severus," he breathes, smiling tiredly at Snape. "I wondered if you would find time for me today."

"Of course I did," Snape replies gruffly. Harry has never heard him speak so gently or act so uncertainly.

Snape clears his throat before speaking again. "I finished the potion today."

Snape holds the potion bottle out awkwardly and presses it into Dumbledore's hand when he doesn't reach out to take it.

"Thank you," Dumbledore says, gazing at Snape with a solemn expression.

"You'll need to take that three times a day until your symptoms disappear and once a day after that," Snape informs Dumbledore, rushing so that his words tumble out over each other. His hands twist, and he shifts uncomfortably.

And suddenly, Harry can see it. He doesn't understand how he could have been so blind. Dumbledore's not dying of old age; no, he's too strong for that. He's been poisoned... by Snape.

Rage wells inside Harry, nearly choking him. However, he can't decide if he's angrier with Snape for poisoning Dumbledore, or with Dumbledore for being stupid enough to trust him.

He balls his hands into fists, his body fairly screaming with tension. He wants to stop this, but he's not sure what he can do or say to make a difference. Or even if Dumbledore will believe him, given how much he trusts Snape.

"Severus, I know..."

"You should take some of that directly, Albus," Snape says cutting him off.

Dumbledore doesn't, though. He places the bottle on top of a small chest of drawers next to his bed and pats the bed next to him deliberately.

"I won't break, Severus," he says, in a firmer voice than Harry would have anticipated, when Snape hesitates.

Harry's relief at this turn of events is so immediate and overwhelming that he feels shaky. But it's what Snape does next that leaves Harry's legs unable to hold him.

Snape sits on the bed. But that's not the problem. It's that he does it with such a familiar air, hooking one knee up on the edge of the bed and placing a hand in the middle of Dumbledore's chest. His fingers wind enticingly into Dumbledore's beard, before he twines the fingers of his free hand with Dumbledore's.

Harry's eyes widen, and he slides to the floor. Though an unhappy laugh rises at the idea of Snape using his body to ensnare Dumbledore, Harry buries the unwanted mirth because while the idea should be ludicrous, it isn't. He raises his knees to his chest, hiding his feet underneath his cloak again.

Snape leans forward and kisses the corner of the old man's mouth. "I'm afraid I really must insist," he says with an attempted joviality that sounds forced, even to Harry's ears.

"I do appreciate your efforts, Severus, more than I can say," Harry hears Dumbledore say gently. "But age is not an illness you can cure."

But unlike Harry, Snape doesn't appear to be listening. He relinquishes his hold on Dumbledore-- oblivious to the way Dumbledore's hand clutches his, so that he has to shake it free -- and starts fumbling inside his robe.

"Is that water?" he asks, pointing to a glass sitting atop the chest of drawers.

Distracted, Snape barely looks up, only muttering, "Good," at Dumbledore's nod. He takes up the glass and settles it between his thighs. Completely missing Dumbledore's look of concern, he reaches over and uncorks the bottle of potion single-handedly.

Not a minute later, the same meaty scent drifts beneath Harry's nostrils.

"Severus," Dumbledore coughs, "what is that?"

Snape, who is busy pulling something out of his robes, ignores him.

The object he withdraws from his robe glints in the moonlight. Harry's not sure quite what it is until Snape holds it up to eye height and slowly pours liquid into it. He realises then that it is a measuring spoon, something he has used countless times in potions.

His anger surges once more, along with a large dose of horror that Snape won't take no for an answer, and he presses his mouth against his knees lest his frustration spill forth.

Snape's arm is steady as he pours, and each rotation of his wrist precise as he stirs the solution, but the same arm quivers as he offers the glass to Dumbledore.

"Please," he says, forcing it into Dumbledore's hand, "it's only a revitalising tonic."

Harry wonders if Snape knows that Dumbledore considers death the next great adventure, but suspects from his attitude that he does.

"Eventually the body can no longer be repaired, Severus, and even you cannot stop time." Dumbledore puts the glass aside.

Snape snatches up the glass, sloshing liquid over the blankets. "Please," he begs again, and Harry's fear and righteous anger retreat before the desperation in his voice. "I only want a little longer."

Dumbledore takes Snape's hand, giving him a look of sympathy that makes Harry want to grind his teeth.

"You're being stubborn, Albus. Just take the bloody potion," Snape says sharply, and then closes his eyes for a moment. When they open again, he fixes them on their joined hands and speaks in a gentler tone. "You're too important to lose, Albus. The Order still needs you."

Harry supposes that this is a Snapish attempt to cajole Dumbledore. However, there's a harsh crust of bitterness in his voice that belies his tone, and he refuses to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

"Severus."

Snape looks up expectantly but Dumbledore only regards him silently until Snape grudgingly admits, "I still need you."

Harry watches Dumbledore squeeze Snape's hand, but there is nothing the old man can say. Nothing anyone can say. Snape lowers the glass in defeat.

Harry's empathy is piercing, but he can't help feeling it like a knife twisting in his belly. After all, he knows what it's like to have the most important things in your life ripped away. He wallows in its aftermath everyday.

Dumbledore takes the glass from Snape and slides a hand up his thigh. It's a possessive gesture that Harry recognises from observing Hermione's subtle mastery of Ron. But they're alone, or he hopes they think they are, so he doesn't understand the need. Still, Snape's shoulders loosen with the contact, in much the same way that Ron relaxes under Hermione's touch.

As Harry watches, Dumbledore raises a palsied hand, slipping his fingers through the heavy fall of Snape's hair and, cupping his hand around the back of Snape's head, he draws him down toward him. He kisses Snape lightly -- on his brow, an eyelid, both cheeks and finally his lips.

Dumbledore appears to be aiming for a soft brush of lips, but Snape keens and catches them with a fervour that leaves Harry bemused but unable to turn away. Snape suckles at Dumbledore's lips greedily, as though trying to store up sustenance for the long winter ahead. Though they appear completely abandoned, Snape has all his weight supported on his hands, rather than, the old man's frail body.

Harry's never seen anyone kiss like this; not in the Dursley's politic greetings, or Mrs Weasley's patient pecks. Not in Ron and Hermione's tentative fumblings, or the lewd way Seamus ravishes his latest beau, all sloppy with tongue. It's an effortless perfection without circumspection or artifice. The way a kiss should be, except, of course, that it's Dumbledore and Snape.

Their kiss continues long after it's sensible, until Harry himself is dizzy and breathless just from watching. Until Dumbledore's breath wheezes, and the thick rattle he makes with each inhalation drowns out Snape's shallow pants when Dumbledore eventually allows him to pull away.

"Albus," Snape says with a trace of fear in his voice as Dumbledore's struggle for breath fails to abate.

Unable to speak, Dumbledore raises a hand to calm him. However, the pronounced shake is anything but reassuring.

"I'm sorry," says Snape, "I didn't mean..."

"I know," Dumbledore replies, his words little more than a gasp.

"Would you like me to fetch Poppy?" Snape asks.

Dumbledore shakes his head. "There's nothing she can do, Severus," he says, stroking Snape's cheek with the tips of his fingers.

But Snape shudders anyway, and Harry feels a wrench himself at the casual pronouncement.

"We need to discuss the future," Albus says. "Your future."

"No," Snape says, the word half-strangled by the accompanying inhalation. He leans forward, pressing his face into the crook of Dumbledore's neck, his weight still on both hands.

"No," he whispers again, as Dumbledore's arms come round him, the words barely audible this time.

A tremor crawls up Snape's back, and the discernible hitch in his breathing causes Harry to panic. The knife twists again, and his stomach roils. He can't afford to feel sympathy for Snape.

Jumping to his feet, he discovers he's trapped, caught between his fear of Snape's retribution, and the fear that this new-found empathy would leave him vulnerable. His panic doubles and he looks around frantically to find that Dumbledore's watching him.

He flushes with shame, not that he'd known he would witness this scene, or would have come if he had.

"I'm sorry," he mouths.

There's steel in Dumbledore's gaze at Harry's intrusion into their private moment, but also, Harry thinks, a measure of forgiveness. Harry flicks his eyes toward the door, and accepts Dumbledore's nod of permission gratefully.

Turning as he exits, the last things he sees before he slips out the door are Dumbledore's eyes and the ghost of moonlight reflecting off Snape's hair. And he promises himself he'll be back to see Dumbledore tomorrow.

While there's still time to make amends.


End file.
